


Had they but courage equal to desire

by Milady_Kora



Series: Sylvix Week 2020 [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Iliad, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Trojan War Setting (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Angst and Tragedy, But there's a gentle epilogue waiting for you, Character Death, Established Relationship, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Love, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Sad Ending, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26504449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milady_Kora/pseuds/Milady_Kora
Summary: "Why should I blame her that she filled my daysWith misery, or that she would of lateHave taught to ignorant men most violent ways,Or hurled the little streets upon the great,Had they but courage equal to desire?What could have made her peaceful with a mindThat nobleness made simple as a fire,With beauty like a tightened bow, a kindThat is not natural in an age like this,Being high and solitary and most stern?Why, what could she have done, being what she is?Was there another Troy for her to burn?"- William Butler YeatsA re-telling of the Iliad with FE3H cast as the characters. Starring: Felix as Achilles, Sylvain as Patroclus, Ingrid as Hector, Claude as Paris, Dorothea as Helen and many others. Ready your tissues, folks, because this'll be a wild, long and heartbreaking ride.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Rhea, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier & Bernadetta von Varley, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Claude von Riegan, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Sylvix Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933510
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6
Collections: Sylvix Week 2020 Fic Collection





	1. Prologue: Judgement has passed

**Author's Note:**

> This has been on my mind for months already, and I'm so happy I finally get to share it with you. At the end of each chapter, you will find a rundown of which character fulfils which role the first time they're introduced. Keep in mind that for this AU, all house boundaries are completely dissolved.
> 
> Specific content warnings will usually be posted in the end notes, however, I want to issue a general content warning for war, violence and death throughout the entire fic. 
> 
> Huge thanks to my betas [Ginko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverwere) and [Jupe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupe/works)! And if you find yourself enjoying this, please consider [sharing a coffee with me](https://ko-fi.com/miladykora) because podfics are on my eternal to-do list and you need a good mic for that :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the end notes for content warnings! The next chapters will be much longer and more _gestures wildly_ dramatic. I'm looking forward to them as much as you are!

When the new child of Troy is born, it is prophesied that they will bring about the doom and demise of the shining fortress that is Troy; the shining fortress that has lasted for so long already and, if Rhea has any say in it, will last for all eternity. Rhea doesn't hesitate. She will do anything to protect her children, and that includes getting rid of one of them. She still loves her children too much, all of them, even those not truly hers, the ones fated for death like this one... when she tried to take the dagger to do it herself, her hand faltered. She was powerless in the face of her love, and yet it was this love for which she would sacrifice everything. So, painfully, she orders the infant's death, and sends for Catherine to do the job.

Catherine, ever the steady knight, obeys Rhea's orders. She takes the baby and leaves for the woods, and Rhea takes her grief and locks it in her chamber along with herself for a week. When she emerges, it's like nothing has happened at all, and so, as years pass, Rhea rules over Troy with a serene and steady hand.

Rhea doesn't know that she failed.  


***  


Catherine tries to kill the child. She really does. But her hand, too, falters when she reaches for the sword. So she leaves the infant in the forest, expecting them to die, and when she comes back nine days later, they're gone. Catherine returns to Troy, even as the guilt, together with the unstained sword, triples the weight of her bag. 

If Catherine knew that she, too, had failed, she would have felt equally guilty for it.  


***  


The child grows up with the shepherds that found it. He likes the name given to him, Claude, but he also knows his place cannot be with these nomads. They look too different from him, their skin and hair too light. None of them resemble him even remotely - and the other children make sure to tell him that he doesn't belong. Claude, ever sharp-witted, learns quickly to ignore them, but he takes mental notes of their questions, of how they make fun of him, and files those notes away until the time is right.

***

Claude is in his teenage years and not much further in learning about who he is. It seems like the shepherds truly don't know anything about him, so there isn't much he can do besides the occasional daydream of running away. One boring day, he walks into a nearby town they're passing through and signs up for an archery contest. He's good with the bow, having practiced enough on the starved wolves who get too close to the herd, and Claude beats every other participant without even putting in any effort. Who would have thought it would have been so easy? 

But just as he's about to claim the coins he won, another man challenges him and beats him without batting an eye. Claude, faced with the option of conflict and second place or withdrawal and second place, acknowledges his defeat - wordlessly, the man takes the prize and disappears into the crowd. The gods must have truly smiled upon that stranger, Claude thinks on the way home, savoring the taste of bitter failure.

Claude's choice is noticed, and remembered.  


***  


Years later, when he is finished with his duties for the day and lays back in the grass under an olive tree, thinking of his future without getting anywhere not for the first time, someone approaches him. More than one person, actually. Claude sits up and looks at a young man and three women, and all of them exude such an otherworldly aura that even afterwards, Claude wonders if the encounter really happened.

The young man bows to him. Nobody has ever greeted him as such - but he could certainly get used to it. "Forgive our intrusion," the man begins, and Claude slowly stands up, leaning against the tree. 

"There's a small... dispute, among the three of us," one of the women continues when Claude, experience whispering into his ear that no amount of questions will get him answers as quickly as silence does, says nothing. "It might seem petty to you, but among us you have a reputation for being fair in your judgement." The woman's voice is strange. Something about her manner of speaking, or the way her voice lilts, the way she slowly blinks occasionally... 

Now is a good point to speak up and make his voice heard, Claude decides, and so he does. 

"Well, I am truly flattered to hear such words," he says with a wink. "To what do I owe this enchanting company, and how may I be of service?"  


***  


Dorothea, the most beautiful woman on the planet, meets the new prince of Troy during his state visit to Sparta. And as she listens to Khalid conversing with Edelgard, Empress of the spear-framed polis and source of Dorothea's sorrow, a plan forms in her head. No, not even a plan. A desperate idea. She sees her chance to escape from Sparta, from her role as Empress consort, from her loveless marriage, and so she throws all her caution in the wind and spares no effort in charming Khalid. The reason for her success is far beyond her influence, but she doesn't know that. 

Neither does she know that her fleeing to Troy is the perfect excuse for a war with the shining fortress famed for its wealth and riches.

As years pass, years filled to the brim with a siege and hunger and scorn, Dorothea thinks that she truly should have seen it coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild content warning (besides the usual ones) for a brief discussion of bullying and a mention of siege + starvation.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Roles:  
> Rhea - Priam; Claude/Khalid from now on - Paris; Dorothea - Helen; Edelgard - Menelaus
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this. If you like this and want to scream with me about all the pain that's yet to come, visit me here!  
> [Ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/miladykora)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MiladyKora)  
> [Retweet the fic](https://twitter.com/MiladyKora/status/1309198181855629313?s=20)  
>   
> And do leave a comment, they motivate me to keep working on this!


	2. In Medias Res

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The siege of Troy enters its tenth year, and each atrocity makes Felix doubt his choice of joining more and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point in time, the characters will all be somewhere between 25 and 30, not counting those who were already adults (so e.g. Rhea or Catherine or others), as the war has been going on for nine years already. Fun fact! I have no idea how to measure the character's age because Ancient Greece did even not have a unified system to measure time, the attic calendar is a clusterfuck and birthday celebrations weren't even a thing back then as far as I'm aware! But, for the sake of reader's ease, I have decided to use our age measurements - though if I do find a better alternative, I will let you know.  
> Generally, time is kind of fickle in this context! The actual Trojan war was during the Bronze Age (around ca. 1200 BCE), whereas the Iliad is presumed to be written in the Archaic Era (ca. 700-600 BCE), and most of the vase paintings and statues use Archaic styles for clothing or weaponry or architecture. After giving it some thought, this is what I decided to go for. 
> 
> So this means that for those among you who are here for historical accuracy, I'm sorry to say that I cannot provide that - and what even is history if not a miserable little pile of secrets?  
> 
> 
> ANYWAY! :) This chapter was betaread by the lovely [Ginko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverwere). You can find content warnings in the end notes, I recommend you read those - and please tell me if I missed any.

The blade sings in Felix’s hand as he effortlessly sweeps through the village, leaving nothing but pointless destruction and blood in his wake. He’d try not to take more lives than necessary, sparing the soil, his sword and the people, but his orders are clear: Pillage. Defeat.

The army, so mighty and powerful ten years ago with all its ships and battalions and shining armour, has reached an impasse. Its unstoppable force has collided with the immovable object that is Troy, and yet still they are here in the hopes of avenging the betrayed Empress - and even more so in the hopes of claiming the spoils for themselves. Felix doesn’t care about either. He’s here for the battle, for the blade in his left hand and the shield on his right arm. He fights not for the glory of his own victory, but the triumph in his opponent’s defeat.

But there is little triumph in slaughtering defenseless villagers, armed with little more than pitchforks and sickles. There is even less triumph in seeing the men killed and the women disarmed and taken back to camp.

To Felix’s right, a man runs out of a cot, brandishing a metal club. He swings at him, but Felix, the deadliest weapon the Achaeans could have wished for, dodges flawlessly in a pivoting turn that is polished beyond mere gloss. Whether the rumours about his invincibility are true or not, he doesn’t care - his skill alone is enough to ensure that only few, if any, have even come close to actually land as much as one blow on him. The man who attacked him isn’t among those lucky few and he never will be, Felix thinks as he sinks his sword into the man’s throat with an upward thrust. A trickle of blood swirls along the blade, running down towards the hilt. He yanks it out, ripping through tendons and breaths and dying heartbeats pulsing coppery red on iron, and turns away before he can see the villager sink to his knees and fall over.

It is always warm near Troy; the soil and sand are dry even during winter when merciful clouds decide to gather and water the crops. But for the past ten years, all the earth has soaked up is blood, thirstily lapping it up from the hands of soldiers ever willing to spill more.

Shaking his head at the pointlessness of it all, Felix peers into the hut the man ran out of and is greeted with a scream. A woman cowers in a corner, her purple hair amplifying every quiver or her body as she rocks back and forth on her heels.

Whatever. Felix leaves her be and joins up with the soldiers and his myrmidons, leaving it up to them to reap the spoils of an easy victory. For both the Trojans and the Achaeans, this is but a promise of what is yet to come.

The soldiers cheer on the journey back to the encampment that hosts legions, soldiers and chariots and weapons and healers, and today gets a new addition in the form of war prisoners. Felix already knows that later, there will be an assembly where all who participated in the pillaging will pick their reward. And King Dimitri of Mycenae, brother of Edelgard and keeper of oaths, will be the first to take what he wants.

How pathetic, Felix thinks. This isn’t what he chose to risk true happiness for.

***

Sylvain has been waiting for him back at the camp. Or course he has. By now, they have a routine: Felix would get orders to go out into battle, delivered by Hubert, Shamir or one of their faceless messengers. Sylvain would arm him, making sure every piece of leather and metal sat just right against his body. They’d part, Felix would fulfil his orders and return with his face and chiton tunic stained by the blood of others.

Today isn’t any different. Sylvain doesn’t even flinch when Felix enters the tent. Nine years of war and injury and death has put things like blood stains into perspective. So instead, all Sylvain does is take the sword from Felix’s hand and sit him down on their bedroll, gently pressing a kiss onto his forehead after carefully taking off Felix’s helmet.

Felix leans back with an exhausted sigh, allowing Sylvain to take care of him. Every single movement is familiar to them after years of practice, and still, he enjoys the way Sylvain imbues each touch with nothing but kindness and devotion. Sylvain doesn’t talk about the war or ask how the battle went, knowing well-enough how much Felix despises bloodshed. He just kneels next to Felix and softly hums the song he’s been learning on his lyre as his fingers undo the buckles of the bronze cuirass and carefully remove the heavy armor from Felix’s shoulders. Felix instantly relaxes as soon as the pressure leaves his shoulders, and when Sylvain takes a moment to lean down and kiss his neck, he smiles.

“Thanks,” Felix mutters and allows his eyes to close.

Sylvain smiles back and kisses him again, slowly moving up to his cheek despite the fact that Felix probably tastes of disgusting sweat and grime and iron. Outside, there are battalions marching past the tent, occasional shouts and stomping and metal clanging mixing into a muted clamor, but the sound Sylvain’s breath are enough to drown it all out.

“Tired?”, Sylvain asks, and Felix just nods once. “Alright.” He presses one more kiss to Felix’s temple, then gets up and moves over to Felix’s legs. Felix sighs again. In the early days of war, Sylvain would have used this opportunity to go beyond just removing armour, would have slid his hand up Felix’s thighs after removing his greaves, but they’re not immature teenagers anymore.

Just a few days ago, they had found the first grey hair on Sylvain’s head. It’s not that Felix envies him for it. It’s really not. But it is a stinging reminder of the fact that Felix, having joined the war at the age of nineteen, aching to prove his aptitude on the battlefield, will be lucky to live to see himself turn thirty. Even nine years ago, before the war, Sylvain had been wiser than him. When Felix told him he was going, Sylvain just looked at him with those damn hazel eyes of his as if he was about to talk of regrets and death, then sighed and nodded in resignation. Felix knows he isn’t just assuming - Sylvain had the same look in his eyes when he first came to Phtia after being exiled for killing his brother. Felix went to war anyway, and Sylvain followed him.

Something warm and wet touches his face, and even though this is routine, too, Felix still opens his eyes to meet Sylvain’s as he gently wipes the blood from his face with a soaked linen cloth. It’s too late to turn back now, he thinks as water runs down his cheeks, just like he has been thinking for weeks and months already. Regrets will await him either way, whether he fights or not, but at least he doesn’t have anything to run from with the choice he’s made.

“There,” he hears Sylvain say and focuses back on him as Sylvain moves to sit down next to him. What started as convenience has turned into need, and Felix is long past the point of berating himself for the way he instantly leans his head against Sylvain’s shoulder, the way the tension in his own shoulders ceases at the grounding weight of Sylvain’s arm around them, the way his hand reaches for Sylvain’s thigh or hand, or cheek, or anything. He shouldn’t be this dependent on one person, he knows, but it’s the war. Felix is going to die on the battlefield before even a single hair of his turns white. He finds himself caring less and less about anything beyond the confines of their tent with each day that passes.

Felix exhales sharply and stands up again, dragging the tunic over his head and putting on a clean one. Whatever. The war is already depressing enough without him wasting energy on overthinking every little choice he made.

“I’m off to train before the assembly tonight,” he says, looking over at Sylvain, “are you joining me?”

Sylvain nods. “Sure, let’s go.”

***

The assembly is disgusting. Weapons and armour and shields and jewelry and prisoners are all gathered in and around one big pile of gleaming vanity that reflects the greed sparking in the eyes of every single soldier standing around it and waiting for the king to make his pick. Pathetic. King Dimitri didn’t even participate in the attack, but everyone is too busy cowering in front of him to even care.

King Dimitri chooses a young woman with bright green hair. Judging by her clothing, she must have been living in the temple dedicated to Apollo and wow, Felix didn’t think the soldiers would actually be callous enough to raid a holy place. But apparently, preventing atrocities seems to be pretty low on their priority list, or why else does nobody care about the fact that the army has now started to hold people for ransom or worse, enslave them?

Felix is so done with this assembly. He has no idea why he even came here, and he has better things to do than flaunt around his status by picking the coveted prize right from under everyone’s noses. Felix turns his back on the pile and sets off towards the tent, but Sylvain’s hand on his back stops him mid-movement.

“Wait,” Sylvain says. His voice is sad. “Look at the girl over there.”

“Which one?” Felix asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

“The scared one with the purple hair.”

Something rings familiar within Felix’s mind. “And what about her?”

“She just-” Sylvain sighs in exasperation. “She looks so terrified and alone. Maybe...” Sylvain looks at the young woman again. “Maybe we could take her in? Please. I know you wouldn’t mistreat her, and neither would I, but a lot of other people might.”

“Why her specifically?” Felix asks. “Or are we taking in every single prisoner now?”

Sylvain doesn’t have an answer to the last question, Felix can tell, but he does latch onto the first one.

“Because I know the soldier who’s ogling her right now, and… he’s not a good guy.”

“Who is?”, Felix scoffs, then rolls his eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”

He expects joy to light up Sylvain’s face, elation to smoothe the creases of his smile, but instead, it’s only relief and exhaustion. That’s just as fair, Felix decides, than sets off towards the pile where Hubert, master tactician of the Achaean army, is currently selecting a new dagger for himself.

Upon his sight, the woman flinches, and that’s when Felix recognises her. She was the one in the hut earlier today, which means he killed her… father? Husband? Brother? He cannot say. He doesn’t even remember what the man looked like.

He crouches down in front of her and tries not to scoff at the way her whole body stiffens up. “Look,” he says. “I know you hate me or are afraid of me. I don’t care. But I think you should be more afraid of whichever other guy ends up taking you with him.” When the woman gives no answer, Felix briefly considers just picking her up, but that won’t make his - what, promise? - more believable. Far from it. Fine. “I’m sorry about the man I killed back there,” he grits out, then swallows his frustration. “I won’t force you to come with me or try to convince you or whatever, I have better things to do. But again, you don’t have a lot to choose from. So?”

The woman swallows, then gives the most pitiful and shaky nod Felix has ever seen. Fucking finally, he thinks as he unties the ropes around her wrists and ankles, then roughly pulls her up by the arms, making her cry out in what’s either alarm or pain - he can’t tell.

Right. He should probably put in some effort into making her feel not horrible, at least.

“I’m Felix,” he says as he slowly leads her away from the pile. “Red-haired guy is Sylvain,” he adds when they reach him and Sylvain joins them in their walk towards the tent.

“I-I’m Bernadetta,” the woman whispers hoarsely. She probably didn’t even have any water to drink today, Felix thinks and gives Sylvain a pointed stare. Sylvain nods, and Felix feels a wave of relief wash over him. At least he can rely on Sylvain to help him take care of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content/trigger warnings: blood, slightly graphic description of killing (victims include civilians), pillaging, war prisoners and objectification thereof, major content warnings for mentioned slavery, abduction and taking hostages, major content warning for implied sexual abuse.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Roles: Felix - Achilles; Sylvain - Patroclus (I'm so sorry); Bernadetta - Briseis; Flayn - Chryseis; Dimitri - Agamemnon; Hubert - Odysseus
> 
> * * *
> 
> Explanation of terms and lore (that will be a recurring theme): Achaeans is another term for the Greek army and I will be using those two interchangeably. Phtia is the place where Achilles canonically grew up and where Patroclus was sent after killing his brother. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this! Do leave a comment and tell me what you think, or come visit me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MiladyKora) or [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/miladykora) and retweet the fic [here](https://twitter.com/MiladyKora/status/1309198181855629313?s=20).


End file.
